


We'll Burn Away The Shadows (As We Fall Down In Flames Together)

by RainbowWhale (WingedWhale)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotions, Fluff and Angst, M/M, broken!sherlock, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedWhale/pseuds/RainbowWhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns from Serbia as a broken shadow of himself. It's up to Mycroft to save his brother from the darkness of his memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Burn Away The Shadows (As We Fall Down In Flames Together)

Mycroft sat with a glass of Scotch, his eyes unfocussed as he stared into the depths of the flames in the grate of the fireplace. He watched as they danced and shifted in an enchanting visual display. It was so easy to get lost in the beauty of the flames. So ridiculously and damnably easy.

            Sherlock had said little since they’d returned to London. And while Mycroft was exactly disturbed by his brother’s lack of communication (at least not yet anyway), . . . it _did_ make him wonder. What was currently going on inside that great and unpredictable mind?

            His people had lost all intel on his little brother for quite some time before they’d discovered where he was being held by the Serbian rebels. And it had taken all of Mycroft’s restraint to prevent himself from literally making heads roll. _Three months. Sherlock had been missing for three months._ Every minute of every day in that span of time had felt like a slowly passing millennium.

            They nearly hadn’t found Sherlock at all. It was only through the _extreme coercion_ of a Chechnyan arms dealer that MI6 had learned of the location where Sherlock was imprisoned along with a few well placed bribes amongst the Serbs. For the first time in his forty-two years of life, Mycroft was exceedingly glad of his position of power that allowed him carte blanche of whatever means necessary to secure the safe return of his little brother. He’d even gone so far as to engage in a bit of wet work himself in his quest to bring Sherlock home to London. He’d gotten such satisfaction at pumping bullets into the guard he’d ‘replaced’ in order to infiltrate the inner depths of the compound.

            Sherlock had been tortured . . . and brutally so. Yet what was so very much worse than having to witness his brother being aggressively beaten in front of his eyes was the sickening silence that ensued and lasted for the entire private jet ride back to Heathrow. Any remarks made my Mycroft in an attempt to draw forth conversation had been met with detached nonchalance.

            And now nearly four months later, they still had discussed next to nothing about Sherlock’s time away. Mycroft bit his lip in thought as his expression coalesced into a pensive grimace. It wasn’t healthy for his brother to stay so silent. And despite whatever words to the contrary slipped from Sherlock’s silver tongue, Mycroft knew better than to think his brother was truly all right.

            He was running out of options for ways of drawing Sherlock out of his mental shell and talk about what happened to him. He’d even gone so far as to enlist the help of John Watson, loathe as he was to involve a third party in this affair. And despite what he was assured were the army doctor’s best efforts, his brother insisted he was absolutely fine. And when that didn’t work, Mycroft had asked the same of Molly Hooper, wondering if perhaps her concern would achieve the results which John’s could not.

            Sherlock remained in denial, and no matter how much he wished, Mycroft couldn’t _force_ the man to speak about his experiences. Still it was steadily beginning to get more and more maddening. If something didn’t give soon, . . . Mycroft worried that Sherlock would suddenly snap at a moment’s notice. And if that happened, he didn’t want to think about who or what would be destroyed in the wake of the hurricane that was Sherlock’s insanity.

            No, by far the best thing would be to find a way to coax Sherlock into _wanting_ to confide in him his memories of Serbia. Mycroft closed his eyes as his mind centred on what was one of the only solutions he knew would have guaranteed results. In a single graceful motion, he downed the rest of his Scotch.

            He then stood and took his grey suit jacket off the back his chair. It was approaching midnight but at this point the hour hardly mattered. His mind made up, there was hardly any reason to delay the inevitable.

            He shrugged into his jacket and grabbed a full package of cigarettes from his desk and left his townhouse. The night air was cool but not terribly cold as he made his own way to Baker Street, driving his personal silver Range Rover. He was able to park quite close to the entrance of his brother’s flat given the late hour and he discreetly used the key he kept to let himself into the building. He shut the door with care so as not to wake Mrs. Hudson.

            He strode up the steps with determined confidence. His brother’s self imposed suffering would end tonight. It _had_ to, and he would make sure that it did.

            He snorted to himself as he entered the flat proper. _High functioning sociopath indeed._ While that might have been what Sherlock wanted the world to think of him, Mycroft knew better. And knowing the silent pain his beloved brother was bearing . . .it was enough to make his own chest tighten uncomfortably in sympathy.

            He walked into the sitting room just as Sherlock was carrying a cup of tea towards the sofa. The telly was on playing some sort of inane late night rubbish.

            “It’s a little early in the day to start in on me, don’t you think, Mycroft?”

            Mycroft sighed wearily. “I’m not here to ‘ _start in on you_ ’ Sherlock.”

            Sherlock merely watched him, unconvinced, as he sank comfortably into the sofa cushions.

            “It’s been weeks now, and whether you realise it now or not, _something_ has to give.”

            Sherlock snorted into his cup impudently. “What are you going to do, brother, _torture_ me to make me tell you of my torture?”

            Mycroft looked deeply into his brother’s eyes. _Really looked,_ allowing Sherlock to see him without any shields or barriers. He watched as Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

            “Your mind is still chained in that bunker, Sherlock,” Mycroft said softly. “Let me help you free it.”

            “ _Mycroft . . ._ what are you saying? Because if you’re saying what I think you are, I’m having trouble believing this conversation is actually happening. _”_ said Sherlock plaintively, his mercurial gaze searching. Mycroft didn’t respond verbally. Instead he laid his right hand gently on Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock looked down at it and then back up into Mycroft’s open gaze.

            “Are you sure you mean it?” Sherlock asked, whisper soft. “For I’d much rather be back in Serbia than have you tease me in the cruelest possible way.”

            “Look at me, Sherlock,” Mycroft told him gently. Sherlock held Mycroft’s gaze and a lance of searing pain tore at Mycroft’s heart as he glimpsed a look at how haunted and broken his brother had truly become. “I would never hurt you in such a manner. Don’t you think I know full well what it would do to you if I did? Look into my eyes and trust me to help you in the only remaining way I know how.”

            “You said you’d never do this again and I know how much you meant it.”

            “Forget what I said, Sherlock.” Mycroft instructed, moving his hand higher on Sherlock’s leg. “Circumstances have changed. Tonight I’m here to chase away the demons for you. This is the only way I know I can truly reach you.”

            “What if it doesn’t work?” Sherlock asked in a small voice. “What if my former self is lost forever?”

            “Ssshhh,” Mycroft hushed Sherlock. “Don’t think right now, brother mine. _Just feel.”_

Mycroft leaned in and placed his lips over Sherlock’s. The touch was soft and almost chaste until Sherlock took the initiative to lick between the seam of his brother’s lips and deepen the kiss.

            The consulting detective sighed contentedly into his brother’s mouth. It was a welcome sound indeed to Mycroft’s ears. He opened his mouth wider against Sherlock’s lips, pushing his tongue against his brother’s in a sliding almost tender caress.

            Their mouths moved in slow and rhythmic unison, saying more than what thousands of words ever could. There was a powerful unbreakable acceptance of trust in Sherlock and it didn’t take long for the consulting detective to turn on the heat and heighten the eroticism of his actions. As Sherlock bit at Mycroft’s lower lip, sucking and tugging in continually mounting passion, Mycroft thanked the Powers of The Universe that he’d found and managed to bring back a spark of his brother’s true self.

            As their kisses turned increasingly urgent Mycroft eased his body over Sherlock’s so that he was straddling his brother’s hips. As Mycroft angled his pelvis against Sherlock’s he found his brother already half-hard.

            Sherlock let out a strangled cry at the intimate contact and bucked against Mycroft’s body, his long fingers clenching against the back of Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft dropped his hands to the front of Sherlock’s trousers. He smiled against his brother’s lips as Sherlock hissed in pleasure arching his back off the sofa cushions.

            Mycroft’s nimble hands made short work of the buttons and zip of Sherlock’s trousers. Together they removed the clothing from Sherlock’s lower half, Mycroft crumpling up the trousers and pants and tossing them carelessly to the floor. He then wasted no time in leaning down and wrapping his fingers firmly around Sherlock’s nearly fully hardened length.

            The consulting detective tore his mouth away from his brother’s lips and exclaimed a gasping expletive, followed by his brother’s name in a mewling supplication for more. Sherlock stretched his neck back in blinding white-hot pleasure, the muscles of his neck standing out in sharp relief.

            Mycroft deftly eased Sherlock’s foreskin back, tracing the pre-come that was pooling at the tip of Sherlock’s cock around the sensitive flesh. His fingers stroked and soothed, caressing the length of Sherlock’s arousal. Sherlock rutted madly against his brother’s hand, stoking the fire of his powerful need for Mycroft’s touch.

            Sherlock’s eyes flew closed in overwhelming pleasure and Mycroft smiled beautifully down at him.

            “That’s it, Sherlock. Allow yourself to give in to the pleasure. I’m here, brother mine. I have you. You’re safe. You’re safe and nothing can hurt you.”

            Mycroft squeezed his fist against Sherlock’s cock. His lips found the juncture of Sherlock’s neck and body, licking and tickling the creamy flesh he found there. He showered Sherlock’s skin with lingering little love bites. Sherlock murmured his name huskily, a beautifully debauched smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

            Mycroft undid the buttons of Sherlock’s silk shirt and removed the fabric from Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock moved his arms so that Mycroft could slide the shirt the rest of the way off and allow it to fall to the floor. He then placed an open mouthed kiss to Sherlock’s sternum and slowly began to work his way down over Sherlock’s chest and stomach, skillfully stroking Sherlock’s impossibly hard cock in measured movements as he did so.

            When his mouth found the dark thatch of hair above his brother’s arousal, Mycroft’s eyes flicked up to look at Sherlock worshipfully watching him. Mycroft smiled in purely erotic amusement and Sherlock favoured him with a genuinely blissful grin. Mycroft dipped his head and his tongue darted out to lick a stripe up the underside of his brother’s throbbing cock. Mycroft was slow and deliberate in his movements suckling reverently at the sensitive velvety flesh. He licked his way around Sherlock’s member until his mouth found the blood reddened head and he eagerly fastened his lips around its top. Mycroft took in a deep breath and sucked deeply, earning a throaty moan of mind-crushing ecstasy from his brother.

            Mycroft slid his head down, enveloping Sherlock fully in his mouth. He expertly shifted his jaw and took him in nearly to the hilt, suppressing his gag reflex with practised skill.

            Sherlock’s body drew tight in building pleasure, and he panted a wordless exclamation of encouragement at the ceiling. Mycroft bobbed his head up and down along Sherlock’s glistening length, humming in pleasure from deep within his throat. The vibrations of the sound travelled straight into Sherlock’s body and the consulting detective’s cock jumped to maximum attention. Mycroft worked his way up to the head of Sherlock’s cock once more and raised his mouth off of his brother with an obscenely wet pop.

            Sherlock writhed beneath him, reaching down and yanking at Mycroft’s shirt to pull him up for another kiss. Sherlock moaned wantonly into Mycroft’s mouth, kissing his brother for all he was worth. Their lips crushed against each other, desperate to remain in contact and neither man broke apart until they both needed a good dose of oxygen.

            Sherlock’s gaze was hooded beneath his dark lashes, his eyes burning bright with sexual hunger. He thrust his hips up to crush against his brother’s and his lips curved into a sinfully wicked smile at the large bulge he encountered at Mycroft’s crotch.

            “Take me to bed, _brother mine_ ,” Sherlock said in soft lust deepened tones. Mycroft got up from the sofa and held his hand out in invitation. Sherlock reached out and took his brother’s hand, squeezing in it in unspoken emotion, and allowed Mycroft to pull him off the sofa.

            Mycroft tugged him against his chest and kissed him soundly. He brought their clasped hands to the front of his trousers and together they freed him from his trousers. He elegantly stepped out of the clothing, discarding his shoes and socks in the process. Mycroft then shrugged quickly out of his suit jacket and Sherlock went to work on his brother’s many buttons.

            Sherlock drew the expensive material of Mycroft’s waistcoat and shirt down his brother’s shoulders, watching Mycroft’s expression as he moved the clothing down over his arms and off his body.

            They stood in silence, Sherlock taking in the sight of his brother’s beautifully naked body. Mycroft allowed Sherlock to see straight through into the heart of his very soul, his gaze as naked as the rest of him. Sherlock’s breath caught visibly in his throat and he trailed his hand slowly down Mycroft’s chest, letting his fingers fall to Mycroft’s rapidly stiffening erection. Teasing the sensitive slit of Mycroft’s cock with the pad of his thumb before gently scraping his nail against the thick steely flesh, Sherlock leaned in and captured Mycroft’s lips in a profoundly soul-wrenching kiss. Mycroft kissed him back in earnest fervor, his heart in his throat as he tasted the salty tang of Sherlock’s first tears on his tongue. His chest clenched in so much tangled and swirling emotion that he felt dizzy with the heady power of it all.

            Sherlock took his hand again and the two of them unhurriedly made their way to the bedroom. Once inside Sherlock reached backwards into the nightstand and took out a tube of lubricant, placing it gently into his brother’s hand. He then tugged on Mycroft’s free hand and pulled him onto the bed on top of him. Sherlock cupped Mycroft’s head between his hands and kissed him with such searing brutal emotion it stole Mycroft’s breath away. The tears were flowing more freely down Sherlock’s cheeks and Mycroft gently licked them away.

            Sherlock raised his hips and rubbed their erections together, drawing forth a deep groan of pleasure from Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft’s hands grabbed at Sherlock’s sides, and he kissed Sherlock once more, quick and deep, before flipping the consulting detective beneath him so that he was lying on his stomach. Sherlock stretched and arched his spine like a cat in heat gasping Mycroft’s name.

            Mycroft opened the bottle of lubricant with one hand and poured a liberal amount in his opposite palm. He then slid a finger between the cheeks of Sherlock’s buttocks and pushed his middle finger into the tight ring of muscle he found there. Sherlock cried out in pleasure, yelping out a strangled plea for more. At the same time he pushed back against Mycroft’s hand, taking his digit deeper inside. Mycroft laughed lightly at Sherlock’s antics.

            Mycroft stroked the channel of muscles, delving slowly deeper until his finger disappeared entirely within his brother’s body. He began to slowly finger fuck Sherlock and his brother’s cries of pleasure began to rapidly crescendo in volume. Mycroft found Sherlock’s erogenous zone and stabbed at it mercilessly and Sherlock soon at to bite his own arm to keep from shouting out loud enough to wake Mrs. Hudson.

            Mycroft added another finger and then a third, scissoring Sherlock open and slowly stretching his internal muscles to accept the intrusion of his glistening erection. As he worked, Mycroft leaned down and placed deliberate kisses to the still healing scars on Sherlock’s back. He gave careful individual attention to each one, licking and placing his lips upon the reddish pink proud flesh that were permanent physical reminders of the Hell Sherlock endured in Serbia.

            Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, and Mycroft could tell he was trying to keep himself from sobbing in earnest.

            “It’s alright Sherlock, my darling,” Mycroft murmured in a just audible whisper. “Allow yourself to feel what you must feel.”

            Sherlock’s shoulders trembled and a strangled guttural wail came suddenly out of his throat.

            “I thought I was immune to fear,” Sherlock said softly. “For so long I’d thought I was above such a base knee-jerk reaction of weakness.”

            Sherlock shuddered violently as his body let loose a chain of racking sobs.

            “I was wrong, Mycroft. _I was so wrong._ ”

            Mycroft rubbed Sherlock’s sensitive prostate, watching as his brother relaxed into his touch. He then leaned forward, using his other hand to cup the side of Sherlock’s face so he could kiss his softly, his lips silently grounding Sherlock in the moment, bringing him back from the horror of his memories.

            He quickly felt the pricking of tears forming in his own eyes and Sherlock gazed at the anguish reflected in Mycroft’s gaze. Sherlock kissed him again, pushing the pain down with a renewed spark of profoundly emotional need to ease his brother’s pain as well as his own.

            “I’m so agonisingly sorry, Sherlock. I wish more than you know I could have found a way to get to you sooner.”

            “It wasn’t your fault,” Sherlock said softly, before kissing him again.

            “I know,” Mycroft told him. “But seeing you in this kind of pain hurts me in a way I cannot begin to describe. I would do anything in this world to spare you from it.”

            “Then please, brother mine, ride me into the mattress and make me forget my time in Hell, if only for a little while. Please, Mycroft, will you do that for me?”

            “We shall burn away the shadows as we fall down in flames together,” Mycroft told him. Sherlock gave him a small smile. Mycroft kissed him quickly against before pouring another generous portion of lubricant onto his hands and then onto to his now slightly flagging member. He rubbed himself slowly against Sherlock’s cleft.

            “Mmm, _yes. I’ve needed to feel you inside me since the moment I stepped foot back in London.”_

 _“_ I know, Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner.”

            “I didn’t think you’d ever consider breaking your own rules, even in a situation such as this.”

            “I know you need me,” Mycroft told him. “I need you too. Come back to me, Sherlock. Come back to me and let me help you heal.”

            “There’s something you need to know before we continue. But first I need you to promise me that whatever I say, it won’t make you change your mind about this.”

            Mycroft’s heart sank as he realised the meaning of Sherlock’s words before the consulting detective offered any further explanation.

            “ _Sherlock . . .”_ Mycroft said in a concerned tone. “If you mean to tell me you were raped, you need to understand that even if you truly believe you are ready for this kind of intimacy it might be different during the actual act. That is nothing to be ashamed of. If you aren’t ready I will help you get help until you are.”

            “Please Mycroft. I need this. _I need you._ I need this memory of us now to replace the ones of what those bastards did to me.”

            A tear slipped out of Mycroft’s eye and trailed down his cheek.

            “Serbia was months ago. I’m ready to dispel the shadows. And I know with utter certainty now that the only way I can do that is with your help. Give me new memories to quell the nightmares, brother. _Please_.”

            “I can endeavor to try, Sherlock, and we can see how far we can go.”

            Sherlock reached around and palmed Mycroft’s half dissipated arousal, teasing and stroking until blood began to rush back into the organ. He flipped halfway around onto his back leaning on one arm and kissed Mycroft deeply, driving them on to another bout of frenzied passion. Sherlock nipped insistently at Mycroft’s lips, pulling at his cock in measured strokes until Mycroft once again had a full erection.

            “That’s better,” Sherlock said softly. He turned back around onto his stomach. “If you aren’t able to do this, I might very well hate you.”

            Mycroft snorted. “Such a threat is quite unwarranted, I assure you. My only concern is for your psychological well-being.”

            At this Sherlock let out a long string of laughter. “Sorry,” he said at length, as he forced himself to hold in his giggles. “It’s just I’m certain that’s not something one normally hears when one is about to engage in incestuous sexual intercourse.”

            Mycroft rolled his eyes, swatting Sherlock playfully on his rump.

            “You and I aren’t exactly like other people who do this sort of thing.”

            “Aren’t we? How would you know?”

            “Because they don’t have the powerful connection that we do,” Mycroft told him softly placing a light kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder. “ _No one has the powerful connection that we do._ ”

            Mycroft then guided himself to Sherlock’s entrance and gently pushed himself in. To his relief, Sherlock sighed deeply in pleasure. He slowly pushed in further taking his time and checking to gauge Sherlock’s reaction as he proceeded. Suddenly Sherlock shifted back, impaling himself completely on his brother’s cock.

            “Nothing’s ever felt as good as having you buried inside me right now,” Sherlock breathed. He tilted his head back as jolts of bright hot pleasure shot down his spine. He moaned huskily in lustful desire as Mycroft began to slowly pump himself in and out of Sherlock.

            Sherlock relaxed completely under him, urging Mycroft to pick up he pace.

            “Are you sure?” Mycroft asked.

            “Yes, _brother dear_ , I’m sure.”

            Mycroft then proceed to fuck him in earnest, finding Sherlock’s prostate with each deep thrust. Sherlock cried out, mewling at the intensity of the pleasure exploding through every nerve in his body.

            Mycroft’s elegant hands dug into Sherlock’s hips, holding him steady as he increased the velocity and power of his thrusts.

            “ _Yes, oh yes, I could live in this moment forever._ Don’t stop! _Please_ don’t stop! _”_

            Mycroft did his best to oblige him, fucking him in wild abandon, the sound of their bodies slapping together and their wordless exclamations filling the room. As minutes ticked on, they both grew steadily closer to orgasm.

            Sherlock twisted around to pull at Mycroft’s wrist and claimed his brother’s lips in a smouldering intense kiss.

            “Let me finish astride your lap,” Sherlock said softly. “I’d like to see your face as you come inside of me.”

            Mycroft pulled out and allowed Sherlock to manoeuvre him onto his back. Sherlock straddled Mycroft’s hips and settled himself back upon his brother’s cock. He smiled at Mycroft adoringly and Mycroft smiled back. The old Sherlock was reflected in the consulting detective’s gaze for the first time since his return from Serbia. Sherlock clenched himself around Mycroft, eliciting a particularly loud moan. Mycroft’s hands settled once more on Sherlock’s hips and he gazed into Sherlock’s eyes as his brother began to ride him. Sherlock worked his way into a hypnotic rhythm, bouncing and clenching, then gyrating wantonly so that his own erection ground against Mycroft’s stomach. The pattern of movement continued for another handful of minutes, before suddenly Mycroft gasped and shot off like a rocket into Sherlock’s body.

            Despite being in the throes of a incredibly powerful orgasm, Mycroft brought his hand around Sherlock’s erection and gave a few sharp pumps of his fist until Sherlock’s spine snapped straight and he came in Mycroft’s hand.

            Sherlock laid his forehead against Mycroft’s as they both panted for breath, riding the euphoric high of their climaxes.

            “I do hope you aren’t hindered enough by the consequences of middle age to forego several subsequent rounds during the rest of the night,” Sherlock teased.

            Mycroft slapped him lightly on the arm. But inwardly his heart was singing to see the return of his beloved snarky Sherlock.

            “As long as you’re aware that I’ll still want to have a real discussion about things at a later time.”

            Sherlock made a face. “As if I could forget.”           

            Mycroft looked up into his brother’s sparkling eyes, and fondly stroked Sherlock’s hair.

            “I love you, you know,” Mycroft confessed softly.

            Sherlock snorted. “Yeah, I think I know. While we’re on the subject, I might as well say I love you too. Because . . . I do, Mycroft. I love you. _More than anything else in all this world._ ”

            Mycroft answered Sherlock with a gentle press of his lips to his forehead. Sherlock then settled his head down on Mycroft’s chest, gently tracing shapeless patterns over his skin. Mycroft kissed the top of Sherlock’s head, thanking whatever cosmic powers that governed the Universe that he finally had his brother back.


End file.
